


the community kick-it-around

by liginamite



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - X-Men Fusion, Bank Robbery, Blood, Blow Jobs, Engagement, Established Relationship, Family Drama, First Meetings, Illiteracy, Kinetic Energy Manipulation, Light Bondage, Little Brothers, M/M, Medical Procedures, Mirkwood, Paranoia, Partial Nudity, Post-Quest, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Series, Psychic Transfer, Secret Relationship, Superpowers, Teasing, Telepathy, Wounds, that one's debateable
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-24 19:22:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 17,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3781459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liginamite/pseuds/liginamite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a collection of tumblr prompts, requests, and memes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. chapter list

**Author's Note:**

> consider this a formal apology for my horrifyingly tiny theme font that i'm too lazy to change. this should be much easier to read.

chapter list! 

1\. bofur/nori, hogwarts AU, T  
2\. dwalin/ori, fondness and teasing, T  
3\. balin/dori, little brothers, T  
4\. dwalin/ori + bofur/nori, the brothers fight over dwalin, T  
5\. dwalin/ori, dwalin's training, ori happens upon him, T  
6\. bofur/nori, confessions, T  
7\. bofur/nori, keeping warm, E  
8\. bofur/nori, bondage, E  
9\. bofur/nori, hogwarts AU, E  
10\. bofur/nori, Mirkwood, T,  
11\. bofur/nori, bank robbers AU, T  
12\. dwalin/ori, first meeting, T  
13\. bofur/nori, illiteracy, T  
14\. thorin/bilbo, hiding together, T  
15\. dwalin/ori, undressing, T  
16\. bofur/nori, injuries, T  
17\. bofur/nori, x-men au 

the world: so what do you ship in the hobbit then  
me: uh


	2. bofur/nori, hogwarts au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the first of a series of [fluffy sentence requests](http://donytello.tumblr.com/post/116682229981/send-me-a-pairing-and-a-line-of-dialogue-and-ill). this one was requested by [avi](http://aviva0017.tumblr.com)!
> 
> bofur asks nori something personal.

“You want me to do _what_?”

Bofur wrings his hat between his hands, looking around the corridor just a tad nervously. Everyone else is in the Great Hall, eating dinner and discussing what they plan to do for the summer until classes start up again. But the two of them, well, they’re standing alone in the hall while Nori gapes a little.

He swallows.

“Um, stay with me and my family?” he tries again, and Nori’s eyebrows raise even higher. His lips are parted, and a good portion of Bofur’s attention has slipped to them, but he manages to keep their eyes locked. “Only, I know that your brothers will probably want you home for holiday, and, and it was sort of a silly idea anyway, but I thought, well…” _You’d want to spend more time with me._ “You’ve never been to Northern Ireland, aye? It could be a fun adventure, maybe. If you’d want it. But I’ll understand if you didn’t want to.”

Nori is still staring at him, as if he’s not sure how to process exactly what it is that Bofur’s saying to him. There’s color underneath his freckles, rising a little bit and Bofur feels a touch of panic in the pit of his stomach. Was Nori _mad_?

“And,” he adds hurriedly, “there’s always, ah, Floo Powder, you know? If, if you wanted to leave–”

“You want me to stay the holiday with you,” Nori says slowly, over him, and to Bofur’s complete shock there’s a smile slowly forming on his face. It’s devoid of any of its usual sharp humor; instead there’s something incredulous and… and _happy_. Some of the anxiety tampers itself back down at that smile, and Bofur feels one of his own forming.

“…aye?”

Nori grabs him and pulls him into a bonecrushing hug, and Bofur drops his hat, mostly out of shock. It’s rare of Nori to show any sort of affection so openly, especially when anyone could walk by and see, but he doesn’t seem to care. When they part again, Nori’s hands are still clutching at Bofur’s shoulders, and he looks so full of glee that Bofur’s breath catches.

“You want to spend the holiday with _me_.” Nori just keeps looking at him. “Together.”

Bofur grins at him, chest tightening with so much _adoration_ , and figures that telling the truth could only do better in the situation. So he nods his head, and sees what he feels reflected in Nori’s expression.

“Any way I can, really,” he replies, and when Nori pulls him back in again, their lips meet instead.


	3. dwalin/ori, fondness and teasing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the second of the fluffy sentence drabbles. this one was requested by an anon. i hope you liked it, wherever you are!
> 
> dwalin and ori share a quiet moment in the river after the goblin tunnels.

“I think you missed your calling, lad.” Dwalin’s voice is a deep rumble, and Ori startles, splashing water all over himself as he whirls around. “You seem suited to battle.” 

Though he feels a bit of heat coloring his cheeks, Ori merely turns back to what he had been doing: scrubbing black goblin blood off his skin and out of his hair. His fingers still smell like iron, coppery and thick, and not for the first time on this journey he finds himself wishing that he had a bar of soap. 

The water in the river is cool and refreshing, and it had taken a lot of insistence that he’d  _look out for myself, Dori, I’m not a child_ before he could take a quick rinse on his own. All of his clothes are folded up on the bank, and when he glances sidelong, Dwalin’s begun to strip as well. 

Ori sighs.

“Hardly,” he mutters, and scrubs his fingers through his hair. Most of it is clumped together, and there’s blood under his nails, too. “It was mostly swinging your hammer around and praying it’d hit something. More luck than anything else.” 

The water ripples as Dwalin sinks in and wades up beside him, all powerful muscle and thick hair. Ori looks up at him with pursed lips as Dwalin carefully takes Ori’s right hand and turns it over, observing the closed gash that runs up along the outside of his forearm. Oin had stitched it up for him, and though it still stings, it’s stopped bleeding, and the cold water feels good on it.

“Luck has little to do with it.” Dwalin turns Ori’s hand back over, runs a thumb along the length of his palm. “I saw how you handled yourself,  _azyungal_. Not a warrior, no,” and he chuckles when Ori pulls an  _oh, really_ sort of expression. Dwalin’s skin is warm. “But assured.” 

“You’re just a big flatterer,” Ori mumbles, but he can feel pleased pride welling up in his chest. “Perhaps we should switch, you can write down how the quest goes, and I’ll start swinging great axes over my head.”

To his utter surprise, Dwalin splashes a wave of water directly into his face that has Ori sputtering and laughing, hair plastered to his forehead. Dwalin’s got a mischievous grin on his face, nearly hidden behind his beard, and Ori growls playfully and splashes him right back. Dwalin grabs him by the uninjured wrist when he does so, twisting him around so that his back presses against Dwalin’s broad chest, and his breath catches a little.

“I was relieved,” Dwalin admits, and one large hand cradles his chin, lifting it until Ori’s head is tilted up and he can see the sincerity in Dwalin’s heart. “It puts my heart at ease to know that you can handle yourself, little as you are.”

Ori scoffs, going even redder in the face at the praise, and to cover his pleased embarrassment, he cups more water in his hand and splashes it against Dwalin’s face.

“I’m not  _little,”_ he mumbles, and nuzzles a little closer. 

“Good aim,” Dwalin says, and presses a kiss into his hair. “We’ll make a fighter of you, yet.”


	4. balin/dori, little brothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> third of the fluffy sentence drabbles! this was requested by [leaper182](http://leaper182.tumblr.com) and was my absolute favorite one to write, oh jeez.
> 
> two elder brothers share each other's company with armfuls of their sleeping little brothers.
> 
>  
> 
> ~~timeline what timeline.~~

“I’ll never unsee that.” 

Balin glances sidelong at his companion, wee Dwalin snoozing on his lap and already starting to drool a little bit. Dori is carefully fixing up his little brother’s braids, his voice low and full of adoration for the tiny body curled up and asleep against his chest. It warms Balin’s heart to see a dwarrow love his kin as utterly and completely as Dori does. They’re sitting outside on the steps of the little house that Dori shares with his mother and brother, only a few torches and the stars above to light the streets of Dale.

“Unsee what?” 

Dori shakes his head, still sounding shocked. “Nori, behaving himself!” he whispers. “And with another dwarfling, no less. I was sure he and Dwalin wouldn’t get along.”

Balin chuckles, running a fond hand through the thick black curls atop Dwalin’s head. “Aye, my brother doesn’t like very many folk at all. But he and yours seem to have gotten on well enough.” 

“Maybe it’ll last, if we’re lucky,” Dori huffs, but there’s a laugh buried in it somewhere. Balin nudges at Dori’s knee with his own, careful not to jostle the sleeping bundle in his arms, and says, 

“Now, don’t be so pessimistic, dear. They’ll be fine friends.” 

Dori glances sidelong at him, and his cheeks have gone pink from the endearment. But he’s smiling in that way that still manages to send Balin’s heart aflutter (and to think that a  _warrior_ and a son of Fundin would be reduced to a dwarfling with a crush at the sight of that smile). 

“Oh, I suppose,” Dori says, faking a little scoff. They fade back into companionable silence, taking solace in the touch of thigh and elbow and shoulder. Not much needs to be said, and Balin quite enjoys that he could spend so much time with this young love of his and not feel stifled by the need to talk and fill up space.

“I suppose we should be heading back to the mountain,” Balin finally says into the quiet, when he feels Dwalin’s breaths deepen into real sleep rather than just a doze. “I’m afraid my brother is quite a fuss when he’s out so late.”

A hum is his reply, as Dori gently strokes the soft fuzz that travels down Nori’s jaw with a finger, smiling as the youngster shifts and presses his face closer into his elder brother’s chest. Balin smiles, too, as he watches.

“You could always stay here for the night,” Dori offers after a moment, and the pink of his round cheeks goes a little redder. “We’d be happy to have the both of you. You could stay for breakfast, Mother makes wonderful scones and tea.”

Balin pretends to debate for a moment, and then leans in to press a soft, sweet little kiss against Dori’s lips. When he pulls back, Dori’s nearly as red as his hair, but he looks incredibly pleased with himself. They’re still less than a couple inches apart, their noses nearly touching.

“I’d like that,” Balin says, and knocks their foreheads together. Both little boys shuffle, unaware of the quiet, gentle moment shared above them. “It would be lovely.” 


	5. dwalin/ori + bofur/nori, the brothers fight over dwalin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> modern au! fourth of the fluffy sentence drabbles, and was also requested by anon! 
> 
> i promise that in this au nori gets over himself and he and dwalin go out to drink and talk bc they both love ori. and then dwalin carries a drunk nori home a la "thor" and then they're friends I PROMISE.

“Are you fucking  _kidding me_?”

“Love, you’re making a scene,” Bofur says, sounding beyond amused as he holds Nori back before he launches at Dwalin and gets his ass kicked. Ori’s standing next to his newly announced  _significant other_ and he looks like he’s torn between shrinking behind the much larger man or shouting back at Nori with just as much volume.

Knowing the family as he does, Bofur thinks it’ll probably be the latter.

“A  _scene!”_ Nori’s voice has gone a little shrill, and his sudden resemblance to Dori is undeniable. “A  _scene_? I’ll show you lot a  _scene,_ he’s nearly twice Ori’s age!”

“I’m aware of that, thank you,” Ori says coldly, and, yep, Bofur can see the color starting to rise in his cheeks as well. He can’t help but share a significant look with Dwalin, who’s standing with his arms crossed and a thin-lipped expression on his face. It’s like he had expected this reaction, but perhaps from a different brother.

Which reminds him. 

“What exactly does Dori have to say about this whole… situation?” he asks, trying to sound neutral as he continues to hold his own boyfriend back from getting himself killed. Dwalin is, after all, a lot bigger in just about every way. Nori may be lean muscle and sharp eyes, but Dwalin’s big and bald and covered in tattoos (and what the hell is this, anyway, is this really the lad’s type? Bofur wouldn’t have expected that, not from a boy who wears cardigans that are too big and carries a sketchbook with him everywhere.)

“It doesn’t  _matter_ what Dori thinks!” Ori snaps, rounding on him, and Bofur has to settle his grip around Nori’s waist a little tighter. “I’m an  _adult,_ thank you very much, I think I can make my own decisions on who I can and can’t date!”

“Easy, lad,” Bofur replies calmly, and nearly gets an elbow to the face for his efforts. “I only ask because it could actually prevent  _this–”_ he shrugs at the squirming body in his arms, “–from getting out of hand.”

Dwalin answers the question, finally speaking up as he rests one huge hand on Ori’s shoulder to keep him from fighting Nori himself.

“I’ve already spoken with Dori, and though he wasn’t exactly… pleased, he gave us his blessing.” 

Nori looks like he swallowed a bug.

“Dori  _gave you his blessing_?” Bofur has genuinely never seen Nori this enraged before, and though he knows that Nori and Dwalin have some sort of history, he has no idea of the nature of it. It wasn’t good, obviously. “Dori would sooner shave his damn head!” 

Ori’s going redder, and the grip that Dwalin has on his shoulder gets a little tighter. It looks like the younger wants to shrug it off, but instead he just takes a step closer, and Nori finally stops struggling to glare right back at him.

“Why is this such an issue?” Ori demands, and Nori throws his hands up, still with Bofur’s cautionary arm wrapped around his waist. 

“You’re twenty-three, you should be dating someone your own age!” Nori snaps, and Ori rolls his eyes so hard that for a moment Bofur genuinely thinks they’re going to pop right out from behind his glasses. “Not, not some old as balls motorcycle  _wanker!”_

“Watch it,” Dwalin growls, and Nori flips him off. 

“Love,” Bofur warns, and Nori lets out a long, angry growl. 

“It’s not up to you, Nori!” Ori says, stepping closer, and shoves a finger right into his elder brother’s face, making him go a little cross-eyed. “If I want to date some  _motorcycle wanker–”_

“ _Oi_.”

“–then I’m allowed! That’s up to me! I’m an adult, Nori!”

Nori wrinkles his nose, and again, the resemblance between the elder brothers is uncanny. And when the same expression is mirrored on Ori’s face as well, Bofur sighs and starts to drag Nori away. Dwalin begins to do the same with Ori, and as predicted both brothers start struggling, clearly not done with fighting each other yet.

“C’mon, love,” Bofur says soothingly, and manages to pull Nori away. “We’ll discuss some other time when you’re calmer, aye?” Out of the corner, he sees Dwalin bodily haul Ori up and roll his eyes good-humoredly at Bofur.

“This isn’t over!” Nori shouts, and nearly knocks Bofur’s hat off his head with all his fussing. It  _sounds_ like Ori says something less than polite in return, and Bofur wonders if that’s Dwalin’s influence or if Ori’s just always been this fiery and just never had a chance to actually show it off.

“Let’s go get you something to eat,” Bofur says, trying to be placating, and Nori huffs.

“Alcohol,” he answers, and wrenches his arm out of Bofur’s grip to stalk off angrily. 

Bofur rolls his eyes and resolves to talk to Dwalin about their dilemma in the near future, before this gets too out of hand.


	6. bofur/nori, confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fifth of the fluffy sentence drabbles! this one was requested by [thudworm](http://thudworm.tumblr.com) and was also in part influenced by [this lovely art](http://nerdeeart.tumblr.com/post/109591556456/i-live-but-to-serve-i-hope-everybody-likes-my) by nerdeeart!
> 
> nori confesses something to bofur about the quest.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

Bofur hums softly into his chest as an answer, nuzzling to get a little closer. He’s barely awake now, and maybe that’s why Nori feels so comfortably sharing this with him in bed, in the dark. He’s carding one hand through the soft hair that runs down Bofur’s back, forever wondering at how something that looks so coarse could in fact feel like the softest velvet.

Bugger, but he’s getting soft.

He stops his fingers to scratch lightly at the base of Bofur’s neck and he feels the delighted stretch, another rumble of happiness echoing in his chest. Bofur spends so much of his life moving, singing or dancing or gesturing as he tells a story, carving or playing his flute, that to have him so still and comfortable is a rare instance. He’s practically purring as Nori slowly moves to the tender space just behind Bofur’s ear. It nearly sends him right to sleep, Nori knows..

But he still manages to open sleepy eyes and smile up at Nori, his hand resting on Nori’s chest, right over his heartbeat. He’s paying attention, and Nori takes a deep breath.

“I was a thief before the quest, aye?” he starts, and Bofur nods. “And remember when you’d carve things, animals and what, and they’d go missing?” When Bofur nods again, Nori shifts his hand and starts fiddling idly with the long strands of brown hair, winding it around his fingers. “Well, ah. That was me, actually.”

Bofur yawns.

“Kept thinkin’ I’d misplaced them,” he mutters, and there’s a smile slowly spreading on his face. He scoots up and throws one leg over both of Nori’s, now snuggling so close that Nori’s starting to wonder if there’s any part of them not touching in some way. Bofur’s always been a fan of contact and closeness, moreso than Nori’s ever been, but he’s become much more keen to it now that Bofur’s all but forced him into it. “That was you?”

Shrugging, Nori feels a sheepish little smile settling on his face. “Didn’t think you’d ever share one with me, or, you know. Make one for me. Kind of like pulling your braids, I guess.”

“Coulda asked me.” Bofur’s drifting off. “Woulda made one for you, y’prat.”

“I didn’t want to ask,” Nori says, wrinkling his nose despite himself. “That was the point. I wanted you to give one to me.”

Bofur huffs out a laugh.

“Still have ‘em?”

“Nah. The tree-shaggers took ‘em all. Cared about that more than anything else, to be honest.”

Another soft little hum, and Bofur’s eyes open again. There’s nothing but love in them, and he stretches out to press a kiss against the slope of Nori’s cheek, rubbing their faces together a little like a particularly content cat. Nori laughs a little under the attention, feeling right at ease with the amount of attention being paid him.

“I guess I’ll just have to make you some more, before you can steal any more from me,” Bofur says, and laughs when Nori shoves him a little.


	7. dwalin/ori, dwalin's training, ori happens upon him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sixth (and final, i thought) installment of the fluffy sentence drabbles! this was, amazingly, requested by two different people in a row and they were [theninjaprincess](http://theninjaprincess.tumblr.com) and [theriza](http://theriza.tumblr.com)! i hope you both liked it. :D
> 
> dwalin's training when he realizes he has an audience.

“Please, stay.” 

Dwalin can see the tense line of the younger’s back as he freezes, and he can’t help but smirk a little. The back of Ori’s neck is a bright red, and he’s wringing his hands a little when he slowly turns around. He won’t look Dwalin in the eyes or, well, anywhere, really. Mostly he’s staring at the ground.

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” he mutters, and the color in his cheeks darkens when Dwalin chuckles fondly. But Dwalin can’t help but note that he sounds just a little bit pleased with himself and with Dwalin’s invitation. 

“You’re not intruding, laddie. If I didn’t want to be found, I would not be in the open so.” Grasper and Keeper flash as he flips them once in his hands, so the hilts are in his hands and both heads rest on the ground. He knows he must look a sight to his little love, sweaty and muscles bulging and every tattoo thrown into sharp relief. 

Ori’s eyes flick up, and his eyebrows raise a little bit. Dwalin puffs out his chest.

“Anything you like?” he teases, and at last he watches that familiar curl of lips that means Ori’s biting off a sharp comment for the sake of politeness. But he does take a step closer, and Dwalin shifts Grasper into his other hand so he can lean forward on both axes rested against his palms. 

“That would depend on what’s being offered, I would think,” Ori says after a moment of contemplation, and even with the playful, bold words, the smile on his face shifts into something shy and sweet; something that has always drawn Dwalin to the boy in the first place. To be so soft and yet so strong in the same measure, delicate and yet, as all dwarves, carved from the stone. 

Dwalin leans forward. “What is it do you think is being offered?”

Another step. “A very nice visual.” 

“Aye, it is, at that.” 

Ori laughs, a flowery little thing that’s underlined with more teasing.

“Yes, that’s what’s being offered, or yes, that’s a very nice visual?” he replies, and his next step puts him within arm’s length. He’s looking up at Dwalin from under his eyelashes, and Dwalin shifts to stare down his nose at him, raising his head just that much. 

“Both,” he says simply, and Ori barks out a laugh. He’s on tiptoe now, just a little, so he can knock his forehead once against Dwalin’s, fingers clasped and wringing against his own chest. It’s not born out of nervousness, Dwalin knows, but rather a simple need to fidget.

With close proximity, Dwalin finds it’s a little hard to concentrate. 

“I have a confession,” Ori says carefully, but still with that smile on his face. Dwalin’s barely paying attention to the words, focused instead on the pretty face tilting towards his, soft lips almost touching his own. He still has the capacity to answer, however, and he says, “oh, aye?”

“Aye,” is the answer. Ori’s not standing on tiptoe anymore, as Dwalin’s leaning down now, with both axes used as a balance. Ori’s hands settle overtop his on the handles, and there’s still a smile on his face. 

When their lips touch, he says against Dwalin’s skin,

“I knew you were here, actually.”

Dwalin can’t help it; he dissolves into laughter. Of course.


	8. bofur/nori, keeping warm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THE PORN, AT LAST! this was the combined efforts of several people, and it was that: i asked for some words to build off of, and they all started throwing said words at me with delight. dirty buggers. 
> 
> the words for this were: ice, height difference, fellatio, and braiding

“It’s fuckin’ freezing.” Nori’s tone is unamused, and there’s a plume of white fog into the air in front of his lips. “No one mentioned it was going to be freezing.”

Bofur chuckles, rubbing his own mittened hands together and breathing against them. They’re huddled together in one corner of the cave while everyone is dozing, their shoulders pressing against each other. Nori was designated watch for the night, and Bofur had slyly asked him if he’d like a little company. He probably hadn’t expected the griping though.

“There’s one way we could warm you up, eh?” Bofur wiggles his eyebrows, sidling just a little closer.

Nori grins slowly at him, gazing sideways at him before he shifts a little, nudging at Bofur’s knee with his own.

“Get to it then, yeah?”

He gets a smirk in return, and there’s a rustling as Bofur starts to maneuver in their little niche so that he’s kneeling in front of Nori, and Nori can’t help but knock his hat off so that when Bofur looks up at him from under his eyelashes, he can see the fire waiting for him there. Bofur’s not particularly tall for their kind but he’s still a few inches taller than Nori, enough that when he starts to duck down to pull Nori’s underthings open to pull out his cock (already growing incredibly interested with the proceedings), he’s practically bent in half until he can find a much more comfortable position.

“Ah, caves,” Bofur says fondly, and his breath gusts against the head of Nori’s cock in a way that has him sucking in a breath with anticipation. “Such a comfortable venue for sucking off a mate, aye?”

“Aye,” Nori tries to say, but Bofur’s coarse tongue against the sensitive underside of his dick has him biting his lip and growling. Bofur just grins cheekily up at him, stretching all the way up to peck Nori brightly once on the mouth before he bends over again.

The wet warmth is divine, a fact that Nori already knows very well. There’s never a bad time for a reminder, either, and Nori’s hands find Bofur’s braids and wrap the soft strands around his fingers, head going back against the wall of the cave. Bofur’s mouth is utter heaven, good for so many things but best for this. His tongue probes at the slit of Nori’s cock with little preamble, and vaguely he feels Bofur shuffle around before a bare hand finds the base, his mitten forgotten.

“Oh, oh hell,” Nori hisses, spreading his legs a little wider. Bofur hums a little laugh and it sends a shudder up Nori’s spine. “Just like that—”

He tugs a little harder at Bofur’s hair before he gets impatient and slides them down, taking the braids out with his fingers as they run through them. Soon Bofur’s hair is falling all about his shoulders, wavy and coarse with the lack of washing. It’s easier to wrap around his fingers and he does so, bringing them back up to the crown of Bofur’s head and pushing him down a little more.

It’s rude, perhaps, but he knows by now that Bofur’s likes the roughness, and sure enough Bofur chokes a little and then moans, his free hand finding the curve of Nori’s knee and pushing harder so that he can settle himself between Nori’s legs.

Nori can’t help but gasp when Bofur swallows around him, and then starts humming. It’s a cheerful little ditty that they used to sing in Ered Luin and before he can quite help it he’s pressing his hips upwards, barely noticing how Bofur braces himself before Nori fucks his mouth, long past any sort of propriety.

Bofur takes it well, still humming, even giggling a bit before he pumps Nori a little harder, with a grip that’s a little tighter and when he swallows that’s all it takes. He comes hard, one hand forcing itself to leave Bofur’s hair to press against his own mouth so as not to wake the others.

He’s still gasping when Bofur resurfaces, licking his lips and a wide smile splitting his face.

“Warm now?” he asks, softly but brightly, and Nori grabs him by the collar to drag him in for a kiss, tasting himself on Bofur’s tongue. Nori’s hand drifts down to squeeze between the other’s legs, the front of his trousers wet with anticipation. Bofur makes a soft noise, his eyes flickering closed as he shivers, and Nori smiles deviously.

“Let’s see if we can’t get you warmed up, too.”


	9. bofur/nori, bondage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> one wasn't enough, of course. they threw more words at me, at request. love those guys.
> 
> the words: rope, frottage, firelight, and trees

The firelight is casting flickering shadows across Bofur’s cheekbones, and Nori leans in close to watch the dancing of the flames in his eyes. He’s sitting on Bofur’s hips, admiring the view.

They’ve run the idea past each other before, the idea of tying one of them up so the other can do as he pleases. Bofur had admitted to being rather interested in the idea, and Nori was certainly no stranger to it, but neither of them had expected it to happen on an impromptu adventure through the woods. The trees are casting all sorts of delightful shadows around them, casting the soft jut of Bofur’s cheekbones into startling clarity, and there’s more trust than Nori had ever expected to see from someone tied up and pinned beneath him.

The rope is tied under Bofur’s sleeves but over his mittens so as to avoid chafing, and when Nori leans down to press a reassuring kiss to Bofur’s lips, he feels his partner test the bindings carefully. Bofur’s lips are dry; perhaps with nervousness, or lust, or more than likely a combination of both.

Slowly Nori deepens the kiss, a way of telling Bofur that he has him, that even if he’s tied and beneath him like a captive he will never be less than perfectly safe in Nori’s capable hands, and he can tell when all the tension leaves Bofur’s body, their lips slotting together for something more intimate than a simple, hard fuck in the woods.

And, Mahal above does Nori want to fuck him but it’s not practical when he’s already tied down, when they’re both wearing all their underthings and there’s no chance of undressing without undoing the rope as well. Perhaps Bofur knew that when he suggested it, but right now there’s nothing to be done.

So instead, Nori shifts a little, finds where Bofur’s cock is half-hard and trapped beneath layers of thick clothing and he  _grinds_ , rolls his hips down until that fabric drags along Bofur’s sensitive skin and it startles a shout out of him, Bofur’s head going back enough that his hat plops into the dirt. Nori watches for any sign of discomfort and when there is none, he does it again.

Bofur’s hips jerk up, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. Nori grinds down a little harder, feeling the length of Bofur’s cock trapped in his trousers. It’s torture for the both of them, and Nori knows it, but to watch the desperation grow in Bofur’s eyes more than makes up for it. The color’s rising in his cheeks and there’s a thin sheen of sweat that’s glistening in the firelight. The hair at his temples is wet with it, and his eyes are half-hooded as he stares up at Nori with all the trust in the world.

“Good?” Nori asks in a low tone, and leans in close to taste Bofur’s answering moan. He trails his mouth downwards, his tongue licking a trail that has Bofur arching his back and neck both to give Nori more space. He latches down to suck another bruise into the pale skin there, starts to move his hips faster in tandem with how Bofur’s are beginning to buck and rolls.

He can hear Bofur’s boots scuffling into the dirt, trying to find leverage again as Nori braces himself on either side of Bofur’s head and  _moves_ , one long, fluid motion that presses their chests together and works down. Bofur gasps when their cocks rub through their clothing, his voice nothing more than a soft whimper. Nori picks the speed up, reveling in how Bofur matches him thrust for thrust, unable to do anything more but roll his hips against the tide of pleasure that’s slowly building between the both of them, waiting for the last spark that will light a flame like the one before them now. All of Bofur’s features are thrown into sharp relief and when Nori looks down at him, mused up and sweaty and color high, mouth open, looks at how utterly beautiful he is he’s suddenly taken by how much he  _loves_  this stupid, silly dwarf.

He doesn’t say it, probably never will except in the darkness of their little room in Erebor, when he knows (or at least thinks) that Bofur is asleep, but the kiss he presses to Bofur’s mouth again, the way he shifts and buries a hand in Bofur’s hair, the way that he just looks at him sends the message loud and clear.

“Go on,” is what he says instead, trailing his lips to one ear, letting his breath gust against sensitive skin so that Bofur shudders and whines, and even from here Nori can feel the stretch of a smile that rubs Bofur’s mustache against his cheek. “Go on, then.”

That’s all it takes. Bofur comes, his cry loud in Nori’s ear. He’s shaking all over, hips thrusting as much as they can where they’re pressed against the ground, and Nori leans back a little to watch. The unbridled pleasure on Bofur’s face, mouth wide, eyes squeezed shut—he looks almost like he’s in pain, and maybe a part of him is with his hands still tied behind his back and Nori still pinning him against the dirt.

It’s a sight, enough so that it only takes a couple more thrusts himself before he’s ruining his trousers too, orgasm licking up the length of his spine with no mercy. Bofur’s letting out soft, whimpering little breaths, overstimulated from the coarse cloth rubbing against his sensitive skin.

For a while Nori just sits there, his face buried in Bofur’s neck, no doubt leaving trails of scraped skin from his beard and hair, but when he finally raises his face again Bofur is giggling with no small amount of post-orgasmic bliss, his eyes closed and his smile pleased.

“What’re you laughing at,” Nori demands tiredly, and shifts down so that he can help Bofur sit up to remove the ropes.

Bofur huffs more laughter, watching as Nori removes a knife from one of his boots and starts sawing through the bindings. When he speaks his voice is rough but no less amused.

“We’re just dirty buggers, is all,” he replies, and as Nori frees his hands and starts rubbing at his wrists, soothing away the bit of hurt that was there, he knocks their foreheads together. “Dirty buggers in the dirt.”

“Aye,” Nori says, and winks before kissing Bofur once, just once. It’s all that needs to be done, and he tastes Bofur’s smile for the rest of the night.


	10. bofur/nori, hogwarts au AND bondage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [tarah](http://bofursbooty.tumblr.com) left in my inbox when i reblogged a list of smutty sentence prompts two requests: "i want to fuck you right now" and "you look good tied up." thank you, tarah. you're a true saint. i loved writing this more than anything. 
> 
> bofur and nori try something a little new in the hufflepuff dorms.
> 
> (note: both are sixteen but they are consenting.)

Nori’s first initial reaction is that green’s a good color on Bofur. Fits his eyes, and the ruddy complexion of his skin. 

Part of him is still coherent enough to check the tie wrapped tight around Bofur’s wrists, but the rest of him feels warm and heavy. They’re tight against each other, chests touching as Nori is reaching around him to make sure the tie is right, inexpertly looped as it is. Bofur’s thighs are spread over his, his knees on either side of Nori’s legs where they’re folded underneath him, and he paints such a pretty picture that Nori wants to keep him forever.

“You look good tied up,” he breathes against Bofur’s mouth, catching his lips in a hurried, uncoordinated kiss that has both of them moaning a little. Kissing, they’ve done plenty of, and Nori can’t help but start to push him, knowing that he’s straining Bofur’s thighs from the way he’s leaning him back. His hands shift upwards, bringing the unbuttoned sleeves of Bofur’s oxford with his hands, wanting to touch him everywhere instead.

“Wait, wait,” Bofur mutters, pulling away enough that they’re only hovering together, noses barely touching and breathing each other’s air. Nori pulls away just enough to stare at his lips. They’re red and a little swollen, and very, very distracting. “ _Muffliato_.”

Nori blinks dazedly, trying to make sense of the word before he realizes what it is that Bofur’s getting at, and he fumbles for his wand on the bedside table, giving it a quick flick. Someone snorts outside of the four post, but then it settles back into silence and Nori can’t help but shoot Bofur a look of clear delight and anticipation. Bofur grins back at him, so much fondness in his eyes that Nori almost can’t breathe for a moment.

He covers it by returning to their previous task at hand; he shoves at Bofur’s shoulders to knock him down into the pillows, swallowing the startled giggle that punches out of Bofur’s chest like a treat. They go tumbling into the sheets, mattress bouncing as they kiss and rub against one another, still in their uniforms, Bofur’s tie half untied and askew around his neck. His curls are everywhere, puffing up off of his head like a fluffy dark cloud and Nori moves his grip from Bofur’s cheeks to his hair, winding the whorls around his fingers and tugging lightly.

Bofur moans happily, tilting his hips up so that Nori can feel the hard length of him. It sends anticipation up his spine, thrumming like the low beat of a drum. They keep kissing, teenagers drunk on hormones and the feel of another body warm against their own. Nori still has Bofur’s hair caught up in his hands, tilting his head back so that he can lick and bite a slow trail down the sharp, angular line of his jaw and then back over plump cheekbones, pressing kisses softer than he knew he was capable of against warm skin. His hips, he grinds between Bofur’s legs, searching.

The warm, wet patch in front of Bofur’s trousers is a dead giveaway, and when the pressure of Nori’s hips hit sensitive skin Bofur makes another louder, higher noise, his bottom lip going between his teeth as he grins and lets his eyes flutter closed. He presses back up into Nori, back arching a little awkwardly with his hands bound as they are, but Nori couldn’t care less.

Most of their uniforms are strewn about the four poster. Nori has no idea where his sweater is, and he’d better be careful in the morning lest he strolls into Potions wearing a Hufflepuff trim. Bofur’s shirt is still buttoned almost all the way up, a travesty if you ask Nori, and he instantly attacks the buttons with fumbling fingers.

“Can’t use magic, eh?” Bofur quips breathlessly, letting his hips fall back down onto the mattress. His hair is everywhere. “Make the job easier, wouldn’t it?”

“Nah,” Nori says without looking up, tugging Bofur’s hem out of the line of his trousers and pulling his shirt open at last. There’s a flush all the way down to his collarbone. “I like the process better.” To demonstrate, he leans down and catches one of Bofur’s nipples in his teeth, eliciting a sharp yelp and a squirm accompanied by breathless laughter.

“What are you doing?” Bofur’s hips quirk once, opposite to his words. Nori ignores him, using his free hand to roll the other until it’s firm beneath his touch and Bofur’s giggles turn into breathless pants. His hips are still wiggling underneath Nori, as though he’s not sure what to do with them, whether he wants to try and get away or press himself harder against the ministrations being mercilessly used against him. Nori leaves sharp little points of red all over pale skin, enjoying how Bofur squirms and laughs and gasps underneath him, trapped by his bound hands and Nori’s hips pinning him to the mattress.

They’re still new to this, as far as the tying up is concerned. Other things, not so much; Nori’s knees have been bruised by the unforgiving bathroom floor already, and he knows Bofur still squirms and crosses his legs whenever someone mentions the Quidditch locker rooms.

He thinks briefly of sucking Bofur off tonight, and he knows Bofur would certainly be up for returning the favor, but he’s too warm all over, the pulsing between his legs trying to drive him insane. Bofur makes an unhappy noise, twisting his hips until Nori looks up at him to find furrowed eyebrows and an unhappy pout.

“Why aren’t you kissing me,” Bofur demands, but there’s the ever-present chuckle just underneath it. “I can’t very well do much like this but I can at least enjoy that.”

Nori can’t help it; he bursts out laughing and practically scurries up the length of Bofur’s body, pulling him in for a kiss that no doubt has them both seeing stars. His hips, he moves into a faster rhythm, a long, grinding motion that presses his cock against the hardness caught in the front of Bofur’s trousers. The tent is obvious, as is the eyebrow raised at him when he pulls back again. Bofur nudges his hips.

With an eye roll, Nori reaches down, pulls the zip and button. Bofur’s cock is flushed and wet at the tip and the noise he makes when Nori takes a hold of it is nothing short of unrestrained. His head lolls back into the pillows, shoulders rolling as he tries to adjust to the sudden rush of sensation as Nori runs his hand down the length of him and leans in close. He can barely breathe, he’s so turned on, and damn being a teenager because he knows he won’t last long at all, at this rate.

“What do you want?” he tries to say, but it comes out as more of a breathless whisper. Bofur opens hazy eyes and his shoulders strain as he pulls at Nori’s tie again. It looks frustrating, and Bofur shakes his head almost angrily at the restraints, but he does not ask for them to be removed.

“Anythin’, just do something,” he mumbles instead, trying to go for a growl maybe, and pushes his hips up into Nori’s hands again. “Nori, do  _something_.”

It’s really all the shove that Nori needs. He leans back again and fumbles with his own pants until he can pull himself out. The cold air makes him hiss, and he pumps himself a few times to get his hand slick with precome before he leans down again, rested on one arm. The other, the one he had used, he wraps around the both of them, and Bofur lets out a shout that makes Nori eternally grateful for magical spells to keep everyone from noticing.

He rubs them together, his hand keeping both of their cocks pressed tight as he rolls his hips, mouth open against the salty sweet skin of Bofur’s neck. They’re both moving together, awkward with the newness of teenage intimacy but it’s more than enough. Bofur turns his head, breath warm and wet against Nori’s ear as he mumbles encouragements between short, sharp pants.

“Yes, yes, Nori, fuck, don’t, don’t stop—” The words are like electricity up Nori’s spine, sending him into shivers that have him searching out Bofur’s mouth again. He cuts him off with a hard kiss that clacks their teeth together, eyes clenched tight as he works the both of them closer and closer to completion. His hand is sticky with the way they’re both leaking, the noise nearly overcome by the way they’re both breathing hard, the rustle of the sheets, the sound of their mouths working together. Nori works his free hand up again, buries it in Bofur’s hair and for one wild moment wishes he could feel the same. But Bofur’s hands are still bound behind his back, and his shoulders are probably getting sore.

He tightens his grip, kisses hard and feels words coming out of him in a babble that he can’t seem to stop.

“Merlin, Bofur, you should see yourself,” he murmurs, pulling back enough to take in the flush of Bofur’s cheeks, the shine of his green green eyes and the line of sweat that drips down from his temple. Curls are plastered to his forehead, his mouth is red, he’s—he’s absolutely stunning. But he can’t say it like that, not yet, can’t bring himself to form those words so instead he says the next best thing that comes to mind. “I want to fuck you right now.”

Bofur whines through his teeth, tossing his head.

“Right into the bed, you don’t even know, mate. The things I would do to you, if we had the time, if we were alone.” Nori’s muttering furiously, so hard he thinks he might actually die from it. Bofur’s eyes are fixated on his mouth. “Every damn day.”

He flicks his thumb over the head of Bofur’s cock, feeling the wetness sliding down, and that’s all it takes for Bofur to shudder underneath him with a low, loud groan that quivers through Nori’s chest. He feels Bofur pulsing against his hand, the sudden warmth that spills over his fingers. But it’s the look on Bofur’s face as he comes, so blissful and yet strained, brow furrowed—it’s almost like pain, but the noises he makes are far from it, and they’re sent straight down to Nori’s cock.

He bites down on Bofur’s neck as he comes, too, biting hard enough that he knows there’s going to be a mark but he can’t be bothered to care. His hips jerk the whole way though, come dripping down obscenely onto Bofur’s soft stomach, pooling where the gentle trail of dark brown curls dip into his waistband. Everything tingles, his toes numb and his eyelids heavy, and when he finally manages to pull himself away, Bofur’s smiling up at him.

It takes Nori a second to realize that the grin’s not entirely innocent.

“Is that your way of saying we should go steady,” Bofur says with a naughty grin, still breathless, still flushed a bright red. Nori scowls at him and wipes his hand off on Bofur’s shirt. A squawk is his reward, even as he’s still coming down from an intensely satisfying orgasm, and leans off the bed to grab his sweater so that his bare ass in the air where Bofur can only stare at it with longing.

“Keep that up and I won’t untie you,” he quips back, and Bofur’s laugh is absolutely delighted.

“That’s alright, I have Potions in the morning, anyway.” Bofur nudges him with a toe, and his voice goes oddly gentle. “…wanna stay the night?”

Nori considers for a moment as he pulls his trousers back up. He could go back to the Slytherin dorms, he figures. Or he could set a little alarm and sneak down the following morning before any of the other Hufflepuffs realize Bofur had a guest in the middle of the night. When he turns, Bofur looks hopeful.

Finally, he rolls his eyes.

“Alright, shove over,” he mutters, and Bofur’s grin only grows as he manages to scooch over and turns a bit, wiggling his bound hands a little.

Nori stares at him impassively for a moment before wiggling his eyebrows, a smirk growing quickly across his face. Bofur catches the look, and instantly his cheeks puff out in consternation as Nori reaches for his wand to get rid of some of the mess on Bofur’s stomach.

“‘ere, I didn’t say I was going to untie you yet.” He winks, and Bofur huffs out another laugh through his nose. “Rather like you like that.”


	11. bofur/nori, mirkwood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this was another endeavor by the stolen hats chat, and i was more than happy to oblige.
> 
> mirkwood hits the both of them harder than they expected.

Bofur doesn’t hate very many things, but he’s starting to hate this accursed forest.

“We’ll rest here for tonight,” comes Thorin’s voice from the front of their little convoy, and there’s barely an answer as packs hit the dirt along with backsides. The rest of the company park themselves wherever they had been standing, all but Thorin who marches on a little ahead to check the area.

Bofur finds himself leaning against a tree, his fingers tightening around his mattock as he tries to take a deep breath. There’s a thread of tension spiraling along the length of his spine, making his hands shake if he doesn’t hold himself together. Oh, but how he hates this forest, its wretched heaviness and that almost gentle wisp of the wind in the leaves. It feels as though every time he closes his eyes there’s a pressure from all sides slowly beginning to crush him, a sense of heaviness and a sense of hopelessness all wrapped into one.

He feels the strong clap of a hand upon his shoulder and startles.

“ _Peace, cousin_.” Bifur’s voice is low, and tinged with concern. “ _Are you well?_ ”

Bofur stares at him for a moment, trying to work his mind around the fog that’s begun to accumulate there. Bifur looks odd; his face seems to be made up more of shapes than anything, and as Bofur blinks hard the shapes soften into clouds. With a short, half-hearted laugh, Bofur covers the hand on his shoulder with one of his own, shaking his head.

“Sorry, sorry,” he mumbles, and feels Bifur’s fingers tighten. “Lost meself for a second, there. I’ll be alright.”

He can see Bifur’s mouth working for a moment, as if he wants to say more, but Bofur merely shakes his head before he can get another word out. Bombur’s watching the pair of them from where he’s helping Oin out of his pack, and the way his brow is furrowed means he’s begun to feel worried, too. Bofur smiles at him as cheerfully as he can manage, and as Bifur finally toddles off to help the process of unpacking their provisions, Bofur very carefully sits down at the base of the tree.

Truth be told, he doesn’t want to talk about anything, least of all the nagging feeling of panic that’s trying to eat its way to the forefront of his mind. He cannot stand this forest, it’s true, but he won’t put that fear on his family as well. He should be helping, he thinks, but most of the preparations for the night are already done. Thorin won’t have them light a fire, and Beorn had packed some honeycakes and milk in little waterskins for all of them, so no hunting or cooking would be necessary.

There’s a bit of a commotion near the other end of their little camp, and Bofur shifts his attention that way to find that amongst the other trio of their company, Dori’s got a hold of Nori’s face, and he’s speaking to him in a voice too low to hear across the clearing. Whatever it is he’s saying, though, it doesn’t seem to be soothing Nori any. Rather, he looks more and more twitchy, his eyes darting around and glancing about. Sure enough, a moment later he bats his elder brother’s hands away and stalks off, shoulders set.

“Nori!” Ori tries to follow after him but he’s held back by Dori. He says something to Ori too, but Bofur’s attention has shifted to where Nori has stomped his way to the very edge of the clearing. His fingers are restless, waving and clenching enough that Bofur can imagine the sound of leather bracers squeaking with every movement.

He shifts again, settling his mattock between his knees and slowly leaning forward to rest his forehead against the cool iron. His eyelids feel heavy, leaden with fatigue and the otherworldliness of Mirkwood. He can’t imagine why he would feel tired, for their rest at Beorn’s was the most indulgent thing they’ve done since Bag End. But closing his eyes means allowing that pressure to return, and he fears sleep even more.

Bombur ends up waddling his way over again, a mumble of hunger drowned out by Bifur’s angry ramblings as the three of them huddle in their own little nook, and still Bofur wants nothing more than to close his eyes and rest. The fear is what keeps him awake; the fear of that crushing pressure is starting to grow, even if he can’t identify what it is. He squishes himself between Bifur and Bombur and just breathes, wishing for at least a single bird to break the stifling silence that’s fallen over the Company.

He’s lost track of Nori, but neither his brothers nor Thorin seem to have brought it up, so Bofur imagines that he must not be too far off.

Slowly, one by one, the rest of the Company drifts off into uneasy slumber with Thorin as watch. Bofur watches the process with a heavy eye; Balin and Dwalin are amongst the last to give in to sleep, Balin’s chin tilting until he’s dozed off into his fluffy beard, and even as his eyelids flicker and finally slide closed, Dwalin’s hands never remove themselves from his warhammer.

Bombur’s cheek is rested against Bofur’s shoulder, his snores loud as ever in the silence. From his other side, Bifur has fallen into his usual uneasy sleep, twitching every so often with a mumble of angry Khuzdul under his breath. The combined warmth from either side of him is comforting, even though Bofur feels he can find no comfort in this terrible, terrible place. So he keeps his eyes open, difficult an action though it becomes.

The only other person besides himself and Thorin who seems to be awake is Bilbo, but Bofur wouldn’t know it but for the slight movement as he fiddles with his jacket pocket, likely pulling at the stray threads that poke out. His eyes are closed and his breathing even, the soft rise and fall of his chest a mesmerizing motion that makes it harder to keep his eyes open.

It’s becoming a problem, one that has that panic beginning to bubble back up in Bofur’s chest; he does not want to close his eyes, and besides that, if he falls asleep then surely something might attack them and with Bifur and Bombur both asleep they could easily be attacked, and who knows what could try and kill them in here, strange beasts or monsters or elves with their sharp eyes and sharp arrows or orcs waiting for them in the trees–

“Shut it, will you?”

A fist bundles itself in the front of his jacket, wrenching Bofur to his feet. Bifur startles awake, his fists flying but Nori just presses a finger to his own mouth, steadying Bofur with the other hand. He can’t remember falling asleep, can’t remember when he even closed his eyes and the thought is quickening his breaths, the thread in his spine threatening to snap.

“I’m borrowing this,” Nori hisses to Bifur, jostling his handful of dwarf and without waiting for a confirmation he’s dragging Bofur away from his family, ignoring his protests. Nori’s gait is jerky and awkward as he leads them towards the edge of the clearing, and out of the corner of his eye Bofur can see Thorin watching their motions with a sharp eye.

“What are you doing?” Bofur demands, realizing belatedly that he left his mattock behind with his cousin and brother. He feels naked without it, like something could jump out at that moment and kill them both. It doesn’t occur to him immediately that Nori still has knives hidden who knows where in his clothes, it only matters that he is unprotected and he fell asleep–

“You were making noises,” Nori explains angrily, and seems to have gotten to where he wanted to go, because he practically throws Bofur to the ground. Bofur hits the dirt with a breathless grunt and looks up, stunned. Nori’s hair is out of control, but more than that, his eyes have gone steel gray and cold as he continues.  “Gonna lead them to us, yeah? Whimpering like a damn pup. You trying to get us all killed?”

“I–” Bofur blinks. “What?”

Nori crouches down next to him and gestures around, his fist finding the front of Bofur’s shirt again to pull him into a sitting position, to pull him closer. Bofur stays completely still, letting himself be dragged up until their noses are nearly touching. The thread winds its way tighter, ready to finally snap.

“What if they’re in the trees?” Nori hisses, and Bofur’s shoulders tense with the fear that’s in his tone. Nori’s afraid. “Waiting for all of us to lower our guard?”

“W-who?” Bofur asks, and Nori shakes his head, lets him go and straightens up again. He’s looking around, and again his fingers are moving in an anxious wave. He seems completely restless, and it occurs almost as a passing thought that the reason Bofur couldn’t find him was because he might have been in the trees himself, trying to establish a perimeter and quell his own fears.

Nori’s eyes shift to where Dori and Ori have drifted off into sleep, Ori’s youthful face squished against his brother’s arm. Bofur watches as Nori slowly backs away again, craning his neck to look up into the canopy above their heads. Bofur follows his line of sight, and thinks that he can catch the moonlight creeping in through the leaves.

“Nori?” Bofur’s careful about how he speaks.

Nori just stares for that long moment, and then shakes his head and turns back to Bofur.

And then, quite suddenly, he flops down into a cross-legged slump next to him and touches their shoulders together. He doesn’t look at Bofur, keeps his eyes on the trees, but Bofur can feel the knot in his stomach loosening at the touch.

“What were you dreaming about?” Nori asks, and he sound a bit more like himself. He’s running both hands over his face, letting his fingers card through his own hair. There’s still a tension to his figure, but as Bofur nudges himself closer, he thinks he can feel some of it draining away from the both of them. It’s the same sort of calm that had come over him when Bifur and Bombur had been pressed in close, as well.

Hesitantly, he fiddles with the frayed end of his scarf, eyelids growing a little heavy again with the exhaustion of everything: the quest, the tunnels, the fighting. He still has a large gash on his forearm from the goblins, beginning to heal properly once they were given time to rest. He knows Nori still has bruises, too, and he wonders if that had played into whatever it was he was fearing.

“I dunno,” he answers, and shifts a little closer. “I don’t remember, didn’t know I was actually asleep.”

Nori hums, staring straight ahead with his forearms resting on his knees. He seems distant.

“You sounded scared.”

“Probably was.” It’s a bold move, but slowly he tilts his head until his cheek is resting against Nori’s shoulder. He wants to close his eyes again, but the tension’s not gone yet, even if Nori’s presence is making it slightly more tolerable. He feels the gentle shaking of a chuckle, before slowly, so slowly, Nori tilts his head to rest his own cheek against the top of Bofur’s hat. From across the clearing, Bifur has drifted back into sleep, pressed close to Bombur. Bofur watches the two of them for a moment, and then looks sidelong at Nori again.

“This place scares me,” he admits quietly, and Nori’s hand hesitates before reaching over to thread his fingers with Bofur’s. They’re still tiptoeing, have been since back at Bag End, maybe even before that, but the touch is self-indulgent on both their parts and it quells some of the fear.

“Yeah, mate.” Nori squeezes his hand, just once. His voice is almost too low to hear. “Me too.”

It’s an admission that took a lot, Bofur knows, and he huddles all the more closer to his companion, wishing for a warm hearth and a warm bed that they could share, instead of sitting huddled together on the forest floor. He knows it’s a foolish wish, knows that where they are now it’s unlikely that Nori would do anything but scoff and head for the hills, but here and now, in the vast silence of the darkness of Mirkwood, with only the trees as a witness, he hears that secret.

And it’s enough.


	12. bofur/nori, bank robber au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [avi](http://aviva0017.tumblr.com) had mentioned she was having a rough day, and also had mentioned wanting an au (based off one of the posts on tumblr about first meeting aus) about nori being a bank robber who needed a place to hide. so i thought i would surprise her!
> 
> bofur's tired and not paying proper attention when someone runs headlong into him on the street with a bag full of money.

To be fair, Bofur really  _had_  only intended to dip into the coffee shop downtown because his eyelids were drooping and he still had another overnight shift to work. He’s tired and a little achy and already dreaming of what caffeine could do to his system. 

So, naturally, the next thing he knows he’s got sharp grey eyes and a face full of red hair and a heavy bag being shoved into his hands with a hissed, “take this and follow me!” It’s definitely an odd thing to have happen. Maybe if he’d been more aware of, well,  _everything_ , he might’ve been able to shove the bag back and take off running at the first screech of sirens a couple of blocks down.

Instead he says, “oh, aye?“ 

Fingers cup underneath his arm and drag him along as he clutches the dufflebag to his chest and allows himself to be led down a dingy old alley that smells of garbage and probably piss. He’s shoved up against the wall and a hand goes over his mouth before he’s even had time to process exactly what’s going on. 

His companion is thin and wiry, lean but with clear muscle underneath all the black he’s wearing, freckles peppered all over his face and ginger stubble lining a strong jawline and absolutely  _ridiculous_ cheekbones and, hell, Bofur must still be tired because instead of any sort of terror or fighting back or maybe even panic, his immediate thought is:  _a bloke could fall in love with a face like that._

"Listen,” the man says, and his tone is urgent, “do you leave near here? A flat, or, or even a house? Somewhere to hide? Answer quietly.” He’s still pressing Bofur against the wall, and very slowly lifts his hand away from Bofur’s mouth.

Bofur licks his lips, mostly to try and find his voice again.

“Uh, aye,” he answers, in a low voice as requested. “About two blocks down? Not much, I hope you like cats because I’ve got one, but… what’s this about, exactly? Because–”

“Stop talking.” The command is absolute, and Bofur snaps his mouth shut and watches as the man cranes his neck to peer around the corner again, where sirens are still flashing blue and red just down the street. He seems tense, ready to bolt at a moment’s notice and finally,  _finally,_ Bofur manages to work around his exhaustion-addled brain to put two and two together. He looks down at the dufflebag still clutched in his arms. It’s heavy, but it’s lumpy, all sorts of pointy shapes jutting out and–

Oh.

“Did you–” His eyes widen. “Is this–”

“Yeah.” The man looks back at him, and jerks his chin towards the corner again. When he smiles, it’s all sharp teeth and sharper eyes. “Just robbed the bank down the street. But I’m kind of in a pinch, the rest of me crew took off and left me in the dust, so it’s just me.”

Bofur swallows, feeling his eyebrows lift. “And how much, exactly, do you have in here?”

“Couple million, I reckon.”

Bofur nearly faints at that, but his companion keeps talking.

“And you can have some of it if you keep your trap shut and show me where you live so I can lie low, just for a bit.” When Bofur doesn’t immediately answer, the tenseness returns to the man’s spine, everything screaming fight or flight. It seems to Bofur that he has one of two options available. Either he can house a criminal in his dingy little flat, with the likelihood of getting arrested for harboring a fugitive (and who will take care of his cat, then?) or he can hand him over to the authorities and get to work with all of this behind him.

There’s really only one choice to make, in the end.

“How’s about you let me take you out for dinner when this all dies down?" 

The man’s eyebrows shoot straight up into his hairline as he gapes, only for a moment. And then his expression shifts into a smirk as he grabs Bofur’s collar and shoves him deeper into the alley.

"Deal. Lead the way and there may even be something after dinner in store for you. If you get my meaning.”

“Oh, I’d like that,” Bofur says cheerfully, and keeps the bag clutched tight in his hands as he, in turn, takes his companion by the sleeve and starts to pull him down towards the other side of the alley. He knows a shortcut that can bring them to the fire escape behind his building, and he knows he left his window open. “But I usually care to know the name of the convict I’m falling into bed with.”

Another sharp, deadly looking smile, and another man’s heart might skip at the sight of it.

“Nori,” he says amiably. “My name’s Nori.”


	13. dwalin/ori, first meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so [leaper182](http://leaper182.tumblr.com) surprised me with another prompt, making this the seventh installment of the fluffy sentence prompts series! this one takes place in the same universe as the [other one](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3781459/chapters/8409805).
> 
> dwalin and ori meet in a coffee shop, and ori just barely manages not to make a fool of himself.

“...are you flirting with me?”

Ori can’t help it. He raises his eyebrows over the rim of his glasses, up at the imposing figure standing with his arms crossed above him. Or, well, he  _would_ be imposing if he wasn’t currently trying to chat up a uni student by asking him if he  _always_ drew from real life, emphasis included.

Because, yes, true, he’d gotten his coffee and then sat down in one of the booths to draw some of the people he saw there while he waited for Dori. His brother had  _insisted_ on at least one visit a month while he was away at university, incredibly lenient as far as Dori’s mother-henning goes, but it was still a couple of hours away, and he’d told Dori he’d meet him there instead of Dori having to find his way to the dorms.

Which left him with nothing to do while he waited. So, at the very least, he could sketch. The barista behind the counter has a shock of honey-brown hair that looks like it would curl if he let it grow out too long, and an oddly shaped nose that he wrinkles when he’s irritated. Ori likes drawing him quite a bit; he’s an interesting fellow, though he’s a little quiet and keeps to himself. 

But that, of course, is how he finds himself in his current situation.

The man seems to be considering the situation, and Ori’s words, with interest rather than embarrassment. Ori’s own interest is definitely piqued, mostly by the tattoos and the bald head and the beard. He’s very built, with muscled arms and a hard voice. But he has very bright eyes, and they’re still looking down at Ori with fascination.

Finally, he asks, “may I sit down?” 

Ori stares up at him, blinking. He’s sitting at one of the booths, all of his papers and drawings strewn about the tabletop. Not exactly a very welcoming situation, though Ori wasn’t exactly trying to scare anyone away.

By all accounts, he should say no.

He scoots over. 

“Sure.”

The man sits down, and he keeps a respectable distance. But he reaches out with fingers that are dark with ink on the knuckles, and shifts one of the drawings aside. It’s the one he did of the barista earlier, and to his shock, the man chuckles.

“You’ve captured Bilbo’s grumpiness rather well,” he says, sounding incredibly amused. “That’s usually about what he looks like.”

“You know him?”

“Aye.” He most another paper over. “He and my friend are... involved.”

He goes through many of the drawings, asking here and there what some of them are, who they are. He lingers on the one of Nori and one of Bofur, his eyebrow furrowed, but doesn’t say anything. When Ori’s phone buzzes, he finds himself a little disappointed.

Dori’s waiting outside in the car, and Ori slips out of the booth after quickly gathering up all of his sketches and shoving them back into their folder. The man watches on, amused again. 

“Um, well, my brother is here to pick me up, but, I live around here, or, well, I go to uni here,” Ori says in a hurry. “Maybe, maybe we could meet up again some time for coffee, uh, Mister...?”

“Just Dwalin, lad.” His grin is sharp, but not quite dangerous. “And I don’t drink coffee. Maybe a restaurant instead?”

Ori nearly drops his folder.

“Um, sure! Sure.” Dori honks the horn and Ori looks back and flaps his hand impatiently. “Maybe... we could meet here and then go from there?”

“Aye,” Dwalin says, still with that grin on his face.”We could do that.”

“Well. Okay, that’s. Lovely, then.” Ori’s going red, he knows. They set a time, and then Ori’s scurrying off to clamber into Dori’s car, still blushing furiously. Dori puts the car into drive after giving him a quick, one-armed hug, and asks, 

“What on earth was that about, then?”

“Nothing,” Ori mumbles, holding his folder to his chest. Dori huffs, muttering something about  _keeping secrets_  and  _just like Nori in that regard_ , but then starts off about what he’s been up to back home, and Ori listens with one ear, thinking hard otherwise.

It only occurs to him when they’re pulling up to Nori’s apartment half an hour away that he realizes that if Dwalin didn’t like coffee, he didn’t really have a reason to be in a coffee shop.


	14. bofur/nori, illiteracy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> another prompt! :O and still more to come, i have two more in my inbox! also i'm always here for illiterate bofur, even if this one has literally almost no plot. but that's what the meme was for, right? this one was prompted by [sneakylittlehobbitninja](http://sneakylittlehobbitninja.tumblr.com). :D
> 
> bofur and nori have a talk about learning to read.

“It’s never too late.” Nori’s voice is soft, laced with comfort as he rests his head in Bofur’s lap. Bofur’s fingers are raking gently through his hair, a rare privilege that few are allowed. “You could always learn, you know. Once you get the letters down, it’s easy from there.” 

Bofur hesitates, though his hands never stop their motions. 

“What if I don’t get the hang of it?” he finally says, and Nori cracks an eye open to look up at him. He’s always so surprisingly subdued when they’re alone together, all the tenseness of his muscles, like a string about to snap, sliding out as if it’d never been there in the first place. He feels  _comfortable_ around Bofur, enough so to allow him to see this softened version of the dwarf he’s known for years and years, and loved for almost as long. 

“Then you don’t get the hang out it,” he says easily, shrugging a little. “We don’t have to tell anyone you can’t read the reports, I’ll do it for you. Make it easier on everyone. But if you  _do_  want to learn, I can help you with that, too.” 

Bofur snorts.

“Never would have taken you for the teaching sort, love.”

Another shrug, and Nori burrows a little more into Bofur’s lap, hands folded loosely over his own stomach. Bofur starts dividing the thick lock of hair he has in his hands into three sections. “Dori taught me when I was a kid, ‘n then I helped him teach Ori. Must’ve done something right, the lad hasn’t put his pen down since.”

“Mmmm.” Bofur sniffs, mostly out of a lack of anything to say in return. Miners never had the time for reading, nor did they really need it. It’s partially why Iglishmek was so helpful; when you can’t hear what the other dwarf is calling to you from across the chasm, you don’t write a big sign. You use your hands. 

But to be fluent in three separate languages and yet be unable to sign his own name, well. It was a little shameful, though no one would dare say as much.

“I can hear you thinking,” Nori says around a yawn. “We can start small, work our way from there. A lot of it’s sounding it out, memorizing, all the fun stuff.” That part sounds a little less than truthful, but Bofur won’t hold it against him. “You and Bifur, for example. You two’d spell your names almost exactly the same, aye? Same with Fili and Kili.” He stretches like a cat, nearly undoing the plait that Bofur had been working into his hair. “All up to you, though.”

Bofur’s silent for long enough that Nori finally looks up at him, his eyebrows furrowed, and then he reaches up and taps Bofur’s forehead sharply with his fingers.

“Oi.” His tone is serious. “Whatever reason you have for wantin’ to learn how to read, don’t make it about other people. It’s about how you feel, aye?” 

“What’s all this about, then?” Bofur teases, leaning down to touch the tip of his nose to Nori’s. “You’re getting awful sensitive.”

“Bah.” Nori tugs on one of the dark braids hanging down next to his face, and when his nose wrinkles it manages to look both like his brother and a very familiar hobbit. “I’m not sensitive, you prat. Just reasonable.” 

Bofur lets out a fond chuckle, and lets himself be led into a kiss. It’s chaste and sweet, and he’s just feeling like the moment couldn’t be more perfect when Nori says against his lips, that cunning edge to his voice back,

“And if you  _do_ decide you want to learn, we can always give you a little  _incentive_ , love.”


	15. thorin/bilbo, hiding together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> another request by an anon for the fluffy sentence prompts!!!! this one was BAGGINSHIELD :O and i was so happy to write it, omg. bilbo is so much fun!!! and thorin's a brat.
> 
> bilbo and thorin hide from a less than thrilled lobelia.

“Are you fucking  _kidding_  me?”

The expletive is more than enough for Thorin to pause what he’s doing. He’s barefoot and has a cup of coffee held in one hand, still half asleep, but as he watches his love, in nothing but a dressing gown and boxers, suddenly throw himself to the floor, he thinks there might be reason enough.

“Are you alright,” he asks carefully, and Bilbo holds a finger up to his lips, looking furious.

“ _Shhhhh!”_ he hisses, and his eyes are wild. “ _It’s Lobelia!”_

Thorin hums contemplatively, taking a sip of his coffee. 

“Will you get down here?” Bilbo whispers heatedly, “Before she sees you--”

At that moment, Thorin hears a very shrill, “ _Bilbo Baggins!”_ that drains all the color from said fellow’s face. Bilbo looks as though he’s just swallowed a lemon, and he reaches forward to grab the front of Thorin’s t-shirt, dragging him down to the floor with him and nearly dropping his mug.

“Bilbo Baggins, I know you’re in there, and Hugo said he saw another man come in with you last night!”

“Damn that Hugo Bracegirdle!” Bilbo says through his teeth, plastered up against the door. “Can’t keep his mouth shut for nothing, can he?”

Thorin hums again, and knocks his knee against Bilbo’s while Lobelia continues to shout through the door, the wood vibrating with the force of her pounding knocks. He swivels around to look up at the half-sun window pane and then looks down at Bilbo. Already the shorter man looks grumpier than when he had woken up next to him, hair tousled and eyes fond.

Another sip.

“What exactly, if I may ask, is she so worked up about?” 

Bilbo sighs dramatically, running a hand through his hair. It’s starting to get long, and curls are beginning to sprout again.

“Oh, she demands to know  _everything_ about my personal life, and I’m sure Hamfast has already seen  _this--”_ he wiggles his left hand pointedly, and the golden ring catches the sunlight quite nicely, “--so it’s probably ‘round the whole town by now. Everyone’s got to know everyone’s business, but she’ll be demanding to be part of the ceremony, I’m sure.” 

The knocking finally stops, and Bilbo’s about to heave a sigh of relief when his phone starts buzzing from the kitchen counter. The sigh turns into one of frustration, and to assuage it, Thorin again knocks his knee against Bilbo’s. 

When Bilbo turns to him, looking ready to start up a new slew of angry ranting, Thorin presses a kiss to his lips instead, the free hand not holding his coffee mug lifting Bilbo's chin tenderly by the index finger. 

Bilbo shifts into the kiss easy enough, some of the tension easing its way out of his body, and he says in a huff,

“Don’t think a kiss will  _always_ get you what you want.”

Thorin smiles, and plants another soft kiss right on Bilbo’s forehead. A hand comes up to thread with his, and the two rings clack together. 

“Well, I’m certainly open to other suggestions,” he asks cheerfully, and Bilbo rolls his eyes. “After all, we’ve got quite a while.”


	16. dwalin/ori, undressing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a new round of prompts, whoo!! (though i still have one left from the last one). this was prompted by [theninjaprincess](http://theninjaprincess.tumblr.com) and the prompt specifically was, "you heard me. take. it. off." 
> 
> ori surprises dwalin with a firm demand. to strip.

“Take your jacket off.”

For a moment, Dwalin only stares. 

“...what was that, lad?”

“You heard me.” There’s a pinkness rising to Ori’s cheeks, but he still stares resolutely down at Dwalin, a rag clutched in hands that are no longer swaddled in knitwear. It’s oddly appealing, to look up at this youngster from where he’s sitting on a rock, his face set and voice as hard as he can make it. But the words throw him off. “Take. It.  _Off_.”

Thoroughly flabbergasted, Dwalin can’t help but look around as if to find confirmation for the ludacricy currently happening before him. When he finds none, he turns back to Ori, who’s still a little flushed but looks no less determined. When he gets no answer nor movement, he finally huffs and rolls his eyes, moving forward as he transfers the rag into one hand.

“You’re injured,” he explains, and he moves aside one of the belts that hold Dwalin’s axes to his back. “Right here.” When Dwalin looks down, still vaguely perplexed, he sees that there’s blood spotting a tear on his side. It stretches from the small of his back to his hip, and for the life of him he can’t remember having ever felt one of the goblins even land a blow, let alone one that  _bled._

“You see, Oin’s busy with helping Thorin,” Ori says, and starts tugging pointedly at Dwalin’s jacket until at last he concedes and allows the heavy thing to be taken off. Most of the wound has scabbed over, shallow on the edges, but the deepest part of it is still dotted with blood here and there. Ori presses the wet rag to that spot, and as the cold spreads Dwalin lets out a hiss. “So, I thought I would help, since it’s in a rotten place, isn’t it, and you’d need help anyway to reach it back here...” 

He looks up, nose wrinkling when Dwalin starts to chuckle.

“Oh, what’s so funny now,” Ori mutters, and looks down at the wound again. He looks so obstinate in that moment, with his freckles buried in a flush and hair a mess from the eagles, that it only serves to make Dwalin laugh a little harder. 

“There are other ways to tell someone they’ve an injury, laddie,” he says, and Ori pauses at the words, puffs out his cheeks briefly before returning to his task at hand. 

“Well, you’re stubborn, aren’t you,” he says pointedly, and big brown eyes flick up to look at Dwalin while a thumb runs carefully over the wound to check for any more blood. He seems satisfied, because he straightens his back again. “Subtlety goes right over your head. So I figured a direct approach would work better.”

Dwalin hums thoughtfully, glancing down at the now cleaned wound. “Aye, I can’t fault you for that.” 

Looking pleased at the affirmation, Ori grins to himself and then stretches out the cricks in his joints from kneeling for so long. Dwalin watches the movements, and when he’s all done, he jerks his chin in the younger’s direction.

“Your turn, lad. Jacket off.”

There’s a pause as Ori looks down at himself, and then back up again, his brow knit.

“I’m not injured,” he says, confused.

Dwalin leans forward and waggles his own eyebrows, a grin forming beneath his beard.

“Oh, I know, lad.” 

The rag slaps wetly into his face as he’s rewarded with a flustered reply, embarrassment, anger, and above all  _delight_ laced through it in equal measure.

“ _Mister Dwalin!”_


	17. bofur/nori, injuries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> another sentence prompt. [avi](http://aviva0017.tumblr.com) asked for this one, and i thought i would exceed expectations. the prompt sentence was, "you're the only one i trust to do this."
> 
> nori comes to bofur for help.
> 
>  **warning:** graphic description of wound and amateur foreign body removal

Bofur’s trying  _really_ hard not to panic, here. He really is. He’s doing his absolute best to keep a calm attitude but Nori is also  _bleeding_  where he’s lying on his stomach on Bofur’s bed and unfortunately, Bofur’s never been good with blood. He can’t stop staring at it as the dark stain on Nori’s tunic, fingers fidgeting.

“Bofur,” Nori hiss through his teeth and then thumps face into the pillow once, hard. Bofur’s eyes snap back over to his friend’s face.“You’re the only one I trust to do this. You’ve got to pull yourself together, mate.”

“Aye,” Bofur replies weakly, as if staring at an arrow sticking out of your best friend’s back is a completely normal thing to not be upset over. As if facing this situation with a steady hand and a calm mind is something to be expected of him in the first place. “You couldn’t...” He swallows. There’s blood all over his quilt. “You couldn’t go to your brother?”

Nori’s lips thin a little, sweat beading on his forehead. His hands are starting to shake.

“Ori’s there,” he manages to say, and his voice is so laced with pain that Bofur feels his heart trying to shatter, kept in one piece only by the gravity of the situation. “I ain’t havin’ him  _or_ Dori seeing me in this state, so don’t ask again.”

His tone leaves no room for arguing, and Bofur nods wearily, the beat of his own heart loud in his ears. What had started out as a quiet night is rapidly turning into a small disaster, with Nori just barely managing to crawl in through his window in the dead of night and shakily asking that Bofur get a small list of supplies. The cry of pain he lets out when Bofur carefully touches the shaft of the arrow is only barely stifled by his own hand, teeth biting down on the strong leather of his bracers. 

“Shit,” Nori finally groans into his hand. He’s pale, too pale, all of his freckles thrown into sharp relief on his face. He spends so much time tanned from the sun on his travels that Bofur had never noticed how many of them there actually were. “Oh, fuck, mate. That hurts.” 

“What shot you?” Bofur whispers, hearing Bombur’s snores from the next room over. 

Nori answers through his teeth. “Orc. There was a bunch of ‘em.” His tone says that he doesn’t want to talk about it, and Bofur doesn’t press the issue. Instead he takes the knife that Nori had pressed into his hand and, trying to quell the shaking, starts to rip at the tunic in an outward star shape, carefully peeling the fabric away to reveal where the arrow had gone in.

He lets out a shaky breath. The arrow hit at a weird angle, but Nori’s still talking, still lucid save for the grunts and moans of pain every so often, especially when Bofur so very carefully prods the skin around it. He feels like he might throw up, but it’s still debateable. Nori needs him to keep himself together, and that’s what he’s going to do.

“I grabbed Ama’s sewing kit,” he says quietly, and then pours some of the alcohol he’d stolen from the cabinet over both his hands as Nori instructs. The sting of it burns his nose, but he obediently and silently pays attention to what Nori tells him to do.

“First, cut a little bit out from the shaft, to make room for the arrowhead,” Nori’s saying, and though his tone suggests he’s had to do this to someone else before, his voice shakes hard. Likely he’s never had it done on  _himself._ “Alright? Two cuts.” 

Bofur nods, and slowly he leans down, bracing one hand on Nori’s back. He doesn’t want to do this, feels significantly nauseous now, but carefully and dutifully he presses the tip of the knife against Nori’s pale skin and makes a small slice outwards from where the arrow pierced him. His hands are steady, years of learning how to carve from his father and cousin coming in handy at last.

Nori whines quietly into the pillow he’s pressed his face into, a long, pained sound as the quilt creaks between his fingers, but he manages to stay still until Bofur cuts along the other side and then can grab the shaft and start to pull.

“Slowly,” Nori gasps, and one leg twitches like he wants to jerk away and run to lick at his wounds, but he stays in place. The arrow slides slowly, inch by inch, accompanied by a slow trickle of blood. “Slowly, Bofur, just-- _ah,_ Mahal--”

“Almost,” Bofur tries to soothe, but his voice shakes. He tries not to focus on the sounds of the arrow as it slides out, instead speaking as softly and gently as he can. “Almost, Nori, a bit more, then we’ll get you cleaned up...” 

When the arrowhead finally appears it’s with another trail of blood, bubbling up and trailing down Nori’s side to soak into the quilt beneath him. Bofur tosses the arrow to the ground with a clatter and immediately presses a thick rag to the puncture, soaking up the blood while Nori shakes and tries to get his breath back. He stays on his stomach like that, slowly but surely regaining composure as Bofur peeks underneath the bloody rag and then eventually starts sewing, just a few pulls of thread to tug the wound closed again. Finally, he’s able to bandage it up and then tug Nori’s bloodied, torn tunic off. It takes a bit of manipulation, both physical and spoken, to wrangle Nori into a spare, but already he looks much more comfortable. 

“How do you feel?” he asks, when he’s all done. Nori slowly opens his eyes, and though they’re hazy and still sparkling with a bit of pain, there’s gratefulness there as well. It settles Bofur’s stomach a little.

“Better,” Nori mumbles, and burrows into the pillow. “Tired as hell.” 

Bofur hums a reply, gathering everything up and sneaking the alcohol and the sewing kit back to their proper places without waking Bombur or their mother up. It’s likely she’ll want to know what happened to the drink, and why there’s less in it, but Bofur will save that for when the time comes. When he gets back to his room, Nori is nearly asleep, and though he still looks a little sickly, some of the color has returned to his cheeks.

“Can I stay here,” he asks slowly, without opening his eyes. “Just for the night...?”

Bofur chuckles softly, running a hand through his hair. It’s a sudden realization; Nori’s now seen him with his hair down. It’s an intimate thing, though Nori was probably in too much pain at the time to really appreciate it. It falls heavily back down to his shoulders as Bofur nods, and slowly tugs the ruined quilt out from underneath his friend, throwing it down on the floor next to Nori’s tunic.

He replaces it with one of the others from the closet, and after a bit of maneuvering, manages to scooch himself into a comfortable position and throws the new quilt over both of them. Nori’s still on his stomach, but he’s warm again, and his breathing is easier.

“Still hurts?” Bofur questions in a soft voice, nudging closer. Nori hums his reply, but his eyes open again.

“Thanks.” His voice is gentle, barely a whisper. “Knew I could trust you.”

 Bofur scoffs, but his cheeks grow pink.

“You always can,” he promises, but Nori’s already asleep.


	18. bofur/nori, x-men au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i have like a dozen prompts in my inbox left. my grandmother died a couple of weeks ago, so mustering up writing has been kind of hard lately. i hope you guys will still stick with me as i work through them. 
> 
> this was for an au drabble prompt, and [sneakylittlehobbitninja](http://sneakylittlehobbitninja.tumblr.com) asked: "how about an x-men au with a pairing of your choice?"
> 
> and then someone said "what about gambit and rogue" and it. spiraled from there. because i'm predictable.

He catches Nori’s eye mostly because he’s intriguing.

The region the mansion is in isn’t particularly cold, but he’s wearing long sleeves, hat, gloves, scarf, the whole shebang like he’s ready for the dead of winter. He doesn’t _seem_ to be overheating, but it’s still excessive, and Nori ends up leaning on one of the balconies near the roof, eyeballing him as he hesitantly walks towards the door, a bag tucked under his arm. It doesn’t seem very big.

Scoffing, Nori pushes himself off the banister and starts to make his way downstairs. Only reason he’s even in this damned mansion is because Dori said it would be _good_ for them to be around other people like them (other _mutants_ , Ori had corrected, and Nori caught the wince before Dori said yes, other mutants, you’re right) but anyone dressed oddly and willing to come here grabs his attention enough to be interesting.

“Ah, well, mostly I’d like it if I could control it,” is what he’s saying when Nori sneaks around a corner to listen better. He’s got a thick brogue, Irish probably. “Getting rid of it completely would be the ideal, obviously, but I can’t see that happening.”

Balin’s the one to answer; not a surprise there. “It’s better not to think of it as a curse, lad,” he says, not unkindly, and the stranger sniffs a little. It sounds a bit put out. “We’ll help you however we can, if you think you’d be happy here. You’re more than welcome to stay for as long as you’d like. And I’m sure Nori would love to show you around.”

The last part is so smooth that for a moment Nori’s not even aware it’s happened, and then he groans. Bugger.

 _Think a little quieter and perhaps I won’t catch you,_ Balin’s voice echoes smugly in his head, clear as if he were speaking to him aloud. _Now help the poor man get his things while I draw up a contract, will you?_

 _Get my brother, he’ll be better for the heavy lifting,_ Nori replies, a little petulantly, and Balin’s answering chuckle is real, rather than in his head.

 _Your brother wasn’t eavesdropping_ , Balin reminds him good-naturedly. _Come along, now._

He can’t help but huff, but obediently makes his way around the corner, hands shoved in his pockets. The mystery man seems a little perplexed, but now that Nori can see him up close, he’s a little thrown. Yes, he’s wearing all those layers, but his eyes are bright and when he smiles, dimples appear in his cheeks beneath dark scruff. He’s still only got the one bag, now at his feet, and Nori swoops down to grab it. When he straightens his back again, they end up eye-to-eye, and Nori’s immediate thought is that his eyes are shockingly green. 

“This is Bofur,” Balin says pointedly, after a moment, and Nori blinks.

“Right,” he says, and Bofur smiles at him. “Right. Which room then, Balin?”

Balin hums thoughtfully, eyes cast to the ceiling, before finally saying out loud, “305, I think.”

Nori nods, hauling the bag under his own arm and nodding his head towards the direction of the stairs as he starts to walk. Bofur startles before he follows, turning quickly to say thanks to Balin. The old man’s smiling, mostly to himself, and he waves off Bofur’s thanks with a simple, “it’s no trouble, lad.”

Bofur does an awkward sort of bow thing before he turns to jog after Nori. His multicolored scarf whips around with him, and up close Nori can see that it’s been lovingly knitted, rather than anything store-bought. Reminds him of both of his brothers, to be honest, and he comments on it when Bofur catches up with him.

“What’s with the winter wear, then?”

Bofur’s too busy looking around in wonder to answer right away, and when he does, it’s distracted. “Mmm, cautionary. I can’t touch anybody.”

Well, that’s interesting enough to warrant more questions. “Really? Do you melt skin or somethin’?” That could be a mutant worth getting to know, but Bofur just chuckles lowly, and his gaze shifts to Nori for just a moment before he’s back to looking around, leaning over the railing to look at the portraits covering the walls.

“No, not quite. Who runs this place? Balin?”

Nori laughs sharply. “Balin would never want to actually run the place. It’s a man named Gandalf, but we call him the White Rider.” Saying it out loud to a new person makes it sound rather foolish, but Bofur just looks impressed. “So you don’t melt skin. Do you… control minds with touch?”

“No.” Bofur looks at him sidelong. “Can people do that?”

“Some. No one here, but I’ve heard of it.”

And then, Nori groans when he realizes where he’s heading. Damn Balin. He hauls the door across from his own room open, waiting for Bofur to walk through before following and setting the bag down on the floor. It’s furnished enough, and Bofur seems most excited about the bed. He flops down onto it, eyes closed, and his hat tumbles off. For a moment, Nori wonders if he’s been homeless for a while, but instead he crosses his arms and leans against the doorframe.

“Electricity,” he says, and for a moment Bofur cracks an eye open and looks at him with confusion, but then he cottons on.

“No, not that either.”

“Ice.”

“No.” Bofur quirks an eyebrow. “Anyone ever tell you askin’ is rude?”

Dori would have a conniption if he saw Nori now, actually. “Occasionally. But I’ve also been told I’m too curious for my own good.” He reaches into his pocket, looking for his silver dollar. Its cold, heavy weight is comforting, and he starts to roll it between his fingers. Bofur looks away, staring out the window sightlessly for a moment before sighing deeply.

“I’d rather not talk about it, if it’s all the same to you,” he finally says, and Nori resists the urge to roll his eyes.

“Well, alright.” He fiddles with his coin. “I’m across the hall, if you wanna pop in or somethin’.”

Bofur smiles at him, a little thing that’s nonetheless sincere. “That’s kind of you.” His dimples are still there, and his eyes sparkle a little. There’s something about the droop of his eyes that ought to be sad, but they’re not. Not really, at any rate.

Nori clears his throat.

“Well, good to meet you, then, Bofur,” he says with finality, and the door clicks shut behind him. He takes out his silver dollar, running it between his fingers and huffing a breath into his bangs.

Bugger.

-

Bofur ends up integrating himself seamlessly into the house. By the end of the week he’s made friends with at least half of its inhabitants; even Dwalin warms up to him, huge arms crossed as he leans against the wall,  some of of them listening with rapt, delighted attention to one of Bofur’s animated stories. He never tells anyone what it is his power is, exactly, but anyone who asks is reassured by Balin that he certainly belongs with them.

As far as he’s aware, he’s the only one who knows that Bofur doesn’t like contact, or can’t do it, or whatever it was he’s implying. He still wears his scarf and his gloves and his long sleeves, though the hat’s gone now that he’s inside. Really, the only skin showing at all is his face, maybe a bit of his neck and chest where his shirt opens and his scarf doesn’t cover. Nori can’t help but wonder what happens when he touches someone.

Maybe the effect isn’t on other people at all. Maybe touching someone hurts _Bofur_.

Nori’s always been an overly curious person, but he decides to leave it be for the time being. If it’s something that Bofur wants to talk about, well. Then eventually he’ll talk about it. Nori knows better than most about keeping secrets, and respecting privacy. Having two brothers tends to do that to you.

Still, his curiosity is piqued again when he walks into the kitchen a few weeks later, intent on just getting a beer out of the fridge, when he runs into Bofur doing some of the dishes. He’s elbow deep in the soapy water, humming quietly to himself, and Nori notes that he’s practically naked for all the clothing he’s taken off. No scarf, no gloves, sleeves rolled up.

They’ve become slow but steady friends, since Nori isn’t one for baring his soul to someone he’s more or less just met. But Bofur’s easy to get along with it, soft smile, good stories. He doesn’t tell anyone exactly what it is he’s doing with all of them, but he doesn’t need to. He just fits right in.

Nori fiddles with his coin again.

He could throw it into the sink, he muses. Maybe have it blow, get the water all over Bofur and then offer to help him with his soaking wet clothes. It’s kind of underhanded, but Nori’s so damn _curious_ to know what it is that Bofur can do, why he’s so afraid to touch other people. It starts to glow hot between his fingers.

Instead he just tugs the fridge open and pulls out one of the bottles, twisting the top off with the hem of his shirt. From the sink, Bofur startles and turns from the waist up to see the intruder into his alone time. Nori waves as he takes a long drink from the bottle, quirking an eyebrow. Bofur’s answer is only a chuckle as he turns back to the dishes.

“Gonna give someone a heart attack like that,” he says, and Nori swallows his mouthful of beer.

“Only if they’re not paying attention,” is all he says in response, and before they can start a proper conversation he’s walking out again. He passes through the library, a shortcut to the huge lawn out back. As he passes by an occupied armchair, he pats a sleeping Ori hard on his cheek, startling him awake with a soft snort. His baby brother’s gotten into a bad habit.

As soon as he’s out the door, Nori flicks his coin hard into the air. It ignites in a flare of purplish-red, almost ten feet up, crackling with energy and light.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” he mutters as it fades, and glances back to where the kitchen window overlooks the back lawn.

-

And yet, despite how curious he was in the beginning, it fades away in the haze of day-to-day life. Bofur stays, with his gloves and his scarf and his hat pulled over hair that’s getting more unruly everyday. He seems at home with them all, though, and Nori can’t help but wonder how long it’ll be before he’s sent out on a mission of some kind. Neither Balin nor Thorin nor Thrain ever mention it.  

He finds a favorite spot out on the lawn that he retreats to often, leaning back against the trunk of one of the trees and gazing out at the clouds. Sometimes he even falls asleep, looking peaceful and serene. For all that he spends his time around people, Bofur likes his alone time too, it seems. It takes Nori a while to realize that on particularly nice days he brings a little flute with him, and the gentle music floats towards the house.

Nori keeps a wide berth.

It’s not that Nori necessarily avoids Bofur on _purpose_. Mostly it’s because he doesn’t really quite know what to say. He wants to spend more time with him, sure, but the problem is that spending time with Bofur involves… well, just talking with him, and with the way that Bofur acts, it means no touching. At all. Not the type of “spending time” that Nori’s necessarily used to. He rubs at his face with both hands, frustrated.

Well, alright, so Nori’s not used to pursuing someone when sex isn’t his goal.

“You’re sure interested in Bofur, huh,” Ori notes one day when Nori’s on his balcony again, and he nearly jumps a foot in the air.

“What the--don’t sneak up on people!”

“You sound like Dori,” is the curt response, which is a low blow. “Anyway, if you’re so interested why don’t you just talk to him instead of going out of your way to ignore him like a prat?”

Nori wrinkles his nose, but the look that Ori gives him is so knowing that he can’t really avoid the subject entirely, and so he sighs and looks back out at the lawn where Bofur is still happily playing his flute. He’s stripped off his gloves to better finger the notes, and it’s always so strange to see Bofur’s skin.

“Not much to talk about, I guess,” Nori says, and pushes away from the banister before Ori can get another word in. He hears his brother’s impatient huff from behind him, but keeps walking anyway. For a moment, he feels energy crackling through his fingertips, and when he raises his hands, he catches the tail end of it as travels through his palm and up into his knuckles. He turns his hands over, clenches them into fists and then flexes his fingers out.

“I’ll figure it out,” he says over his shoulder, and he can _feel_ Ori rolling his eyes.

And of course, he doesn’t. Well, it figures it out, in a manner of speaking, but it’s through no cleverness of his own. Or any sort of cleverness on anyone’s part, really.

One of the days that he’s out there, when most of the house is away for one reason or another, Bofur falls asleep beneath his little tree, flute loose between his hands. He seems peaceful enough, head back against the bark, lips parted. No one wants to bother him, as comfortable as he looks, and it’s not a dangerous thing, so everyone still around leaves him to it.

But it looks like it’s about to rain, the sky darkening with an ominous gray, and as amusing as it would be to let him get soaked through Nori decides to do him a favor. He hauls himself outside as the wind starts to pick up, jogging up to the tree and crouching down.

“Hey,” he says loudly, and stupidly, unthinkingly, _completely and utterly_ without a thought reaches out and taps Bofur’s cheek with his hand, cups his face to tilt his head upwards

It’s a reflex, really. So many other things he could’ve done to get Bofur’s attention--shaking his shoulder, nudged his leg with his foot, he didn’t even have to touch him, really--and he goes for the one thing that’s been plaguing him for months now. Bofur stirs beneath his hand, vaguely, and Nori’s about to pull away when it hits.

His mouth opens, trying to suck in a breath as agony laces up the length of his arm, and suddenly he can’t wrench it away, nor do something as simple as breathe. His hand feels solidly _attached_ to Bofur’s skin, muscles screeching in shock and agony as veins begin to rise along the length of his skin. His arm goes numb, ice cold, and the world that Nori’s known his whole life suddenly narrows down to that point of contact between the two of them.

He feels like he’s dying.

Everything he’s ever been feels like it’s pouring out of him through his arm, body convulsing hard as it tries to understand what’s happening to it. Dimly, he can hear shouting, but Nori doesn’t know anything anymore. All he knows is pain and _fear_.

Bofur’s eyes open, slowly, blearily, and the green has given way to a shocking, brilliant, familiar purple. He stares in confusion, eyebrows knitting together, and then just as quickly he’s inhaling sharply, throwing Nori’s hand off his face and scuttling backwards just as everything goes black.

Nori hits the ground on his back, _hard_. Nothing’s going on in his head; it’s like a blank slate, and he stares up at the sky as the darkness fades from his vision and the rain starts up. His arm still burns, like every nerve still thinks it’s under assault, and then a face is swimming in his vision, terror etched in every line of expression.

“Nori?” Bofur’s voice is hoarse, “Nori, oh, oh hell, why’d you--Nori--” Gloved hands touch his face and turn him, slowly, looking for something that Nori can’t identify. “Nori, answer me, c’mon now--”

Another voice joins Bofur’s, and it sounds even more panicked. Then a face.

“What happened?” Dori. “Is he okay?”

At once everything’s rushing back, like a wave, and it arches Nori’s back as he sucks in a deep breath. It all comes out in a coughing fit; he hadn’t realized how little air he’d actually been able to get in during… during whatever happened. Bofur’s hands leave his face, replaced instead by Dori pressing the back of his own to Nori’s forehead.

“Well, the secret’s out,” comes Balin’s voice from somewhere above him. “Bofur, I thought you had been working on controlling yourself?”

“I was!” Bofur snaps, instantly defensive, and it doesn’t sound like him at all. “I was, but he snuck up on me! I can’t very well control it when I’m asleep, can I?”

He kind of sounds like Nori, actually.

“Alright, alright,” Balin says in reply, but he sounds almost amused. “We’ll get Nori inside then, while you work yourself out.”

Nori thinks he catches Bofur scrubbing at his own face with both hands, but then he’s hauled up into a sitting position before Dori simply picks him up effortlessly. It’d be more embarrassing and he’d be shoving Dori away if Nori didn’t suddenly feel like puking from all the sudden movement. He feels like _shit_.

Left behind, he can see Bofur watching them leave, and Nori resolves to figure out what the _hell_ happened.

Once he can get his head back on right.

-

“Hasn’t really got a name.” Bofur’s leaning against his wide-spread fingers, legs crossed on the quilt beneath him. Nori’s leaning against the wall, running a new coin down the tops of his fingers. “Mostly it’s… when I’m touching another person, skin to skin, there’s an exchange from them to me.” He shrugs. “I get everything.”

“Including powers?”

“Including powers.” Bofur sighs deeply. He looks troubled. “Memories, personality. It’s a bother, is what it is.” He looks at his own hand. “I was working with Oin on controlling it, and occasionally I can if I concentrate, but--bah.” He cuts himself off, looking out the window. “Sometimes I wonder if I ever will.”

Nori stares at his coin. He feels back to normal, after Dori set him down on the couch and fussed over him for a good hour. Things came back to him slowly but surely, energy crackling through his fingertips as he stared up at his hand.

And now he’s in Bofur’s room, trying to figure it all out.

Bofur leans forward, his hand dropping down as he watches Nori fiddle with the coin. He mostly burst in here on his own, demanding answers, but Bofur still seems willing enough to give them. He looks guilty, mostly, even though--and Nori’s big enough to admit it--it was all Nori’s fault for forgetting Bofur’s number one rule.

“Did you make any progress with Oin?” he asks instead, and Bofur considers for a moment before shrugging.

“Here and there,” he mutters, looking down at his gloved hands.

“Well,” Nori starts slowly, “we could always try.”

“I hate to remind you,” Bofur says dryly, “that the first time didn’t go so well.”

“Because you were asleep.” This time Nori shrugs, and Bofur looks doubtful. Sure, it didn’t go so well, and Nori’s definitely not keen on giving his entire psyche to Bofur again, but he feels bad for breaking the cardinal rule. It’s worth trying, at least, to make up for it.

Bofur flinches a little bit when Nori walks up to the bed, plops himself down on the edge. They’re still at some awkward stage of friendship; Nori knows there’s an attraction there, at least on his end, and while there’s a physical attraction--because he has to face the facts, Bofur’s bright eyes and scruffy cheeks and kind smile may not be what he’s _used_ to but it’s a lot for him to handle--Nori has to work around whatever mental attraction there is for him as well.

This… thing he wants to have with Bofur is going to take some time.

When he slowly reaches out, palms turned up, Bofur stares at him for a long moment. There’s fear in his eyes, tapered down with the humor that Nori’s so used to, and finally Nori huffs impatiently.

“Did I mention I’m also tougher than other people? Mutant thing.”

That startles a chortle out of him, and very carefully, Bofur places his gloved hand overtop Nori’s bare one.

“Aye,” he says slowly, and they shake on it. “It’s worth a shot.”

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi (and request more if you'd like!) on [tumblr](http://donytello.tumblr.com)!


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